The Song is Ended but the Melody Lingers On
An open thread about the celebrated figures we've lost (this year, or at any time really), and how their lives and deaths have affected us.
Readers,
On Monday, in an essay entitled “Sinéad O'Connor Helped Me Find My Voice,”
paid tribute to late singer and activist Sinéad O'Connor, who died in July, and today would have turned 57. O’Connor was an inspiration to the author from the time she was a teen, and when she passed away, it left a mark. The day after O’Connor’s death, Cox promptly sent a draft of her piece to me.The essay, and its warm reception among the wonderfully engaged Oldster community, got me thinking about ways in which celebrities can have a big emotional impact on us, both while they’re living and after they’ve passed—even if we’ve never met them in real life. Which celebrities’ passings have deeply affected you?
I’ve been similarly moved by the many tributes to Friends star Matthew Perry, by those who knew him personally and those who didn’t—people writing about things that became more apparent after his death, like the numerous times Perry went out of his way to help others in recovery.
Celebrities aren’t just known for their artistic work; they also live their lives in public, right before our eyes, which can make it seem as if they’re part of our lives. We naturally become invested in their ups and downs. Observed on stage and screen, and in the tabloids, they begin to feel immortal to us, so when they’re gone, it becomes hard to believe. Once reality sets in, we feel the loss.
I’m reminded of a time in December, 1996, when I was a stringer for the Metro section of New York Times and they sent me to Hoboken to cover the installation of a commemorative plaque near Frank Sinatra’s childhood home. (My on-scene reporting contributed to Melody Petersen’s story.) Sinatra was in the hospital, battling a potentially life-threatening case of pneumonia, and the Times wanted me to ask locals not only how they felt about the plaque, but also how they’d feel if Sinatra didn’t survive.
The people I spoke to were distraught about the prospect of losing Ol’ Blue Eyes, which seemed likely. They spoke effusively about him, how much they loved him, how proud they were to share a hometown with him. They told stories about times they met him, or their elders did. A couple of women cried.
One man, a kind of tough guy, was in such deep denial, he seemed offended by the suggestion that the beloved crooner from his neighborhood might not live forever. “You kidding me?” he retorted. “It’d take a lot to take Frank down.”
It turned out the guy was right; Pneumonia was no match for his hero. Sinatra miraculously recovered, to live another year-and-a-half. Which meant that most of the quotes I got about his possible passing wound up on the cutting room floor.
I was sad when Sinatra did die, in May of 1998. I’d been a fan from a freakishly early age. In elementary school, while my Gen X peers had crushes on David and Shaun Cassidy, I’d had a crush on him. (Before that, I was enamored of Andy Williams. What can I say? I was weirdly attracted to crooners old enough to be my grandfather.)
At 10, I sent Sinatra fan mail. His record company sent me this photo in reply:
The celebrity death that was the hardest for me, though, was John Lennon’s. He was gunned down by Mark David Chapman 43 years ago today, when I was just 15 and in 10th-grade. (It’s the subject of John Lennon: Murder Without a Trial, a new docuseries on Apple TV.) I was so upset—by the fact of his death, and the violence of it—that I felt sick to my stomach and had to stay home from school. I spent the day crying on the phone with my friends from summer camp.
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We were all utterly crushed by the news of Lennon’s murder, and talked about it for years to come. Initially we felt shocked. How could one of the Beatles be gone? They seemed like mythic characters who could never die. Then we became deeply sad. The sadness lingered a long time. Maybe it’s never fully lifted.
It felt then as if we were entering a darker time. In hindsight, I think we were.
Your turn: Which celebrity passings have most affected you, and why? Tell me in the comments…
-Sari
Just corrected myself—John Lennon was murdered 43 years ago, not 33!
Anthony Bourdain's passing crushed me. The way he passed, his life, his struggle to find peace. I felt it.